Page 13 of The Work of Art

It didn’t prevent him from conversing with her. Indeed, he seemed rather determined to engage her. “Are you enjoying London?” he asked when they joined hands to promenade.

“I’ve seen very little of it, sir.” It wasn’t for lack of interest. Much as she preferred life in rural Devonshire, she would have liked to visit the British Museum at least once, and she longed to see the performing horses at Astley’s Amphitheatre. But entertainment hadn’t been the focus of her visit thus far. Uncle Edgar and Mrs. Vale had been far more interested in seeing she was properly outfitted for her debut than in squiring her about town.

“No ices at Gunter’s?” Mr. Forsythe pressed.

“Not yet,” she said. “But I hope I shall taste one soon.” Had she come to London with her grandfather, they would have visited Gunter’s Tea Shop on the very first day. Grandfather had loved sweets in every form, and never missed a chance to try some new confection. An ice, eaten in an open carriage on a warm summer afternoon, would have been a temptation he couldn’t resist.

“And what about Vauxhall Gardens?” Mr. Forsythe asked.

“I haven’t had the pleasure.”

They separated once more, only to reunite a moment later. “Let me guess,” he said. “Books are your passion. You prefer the circulating library.”

Philly thought of the small stack of books she’d brought with her to London. Two leather-bound novels and a volume of poetry. Books taken from the sprawling library at Satterthwaite Court. By rights, she should have left them there. They didn’t belong to her anymore. Nothing at Satterthwaite Court belonged to her. Not as far as the law was concerned. It all belonged to Uncle Edgar now.

“I do enjoy reading,” she admitted, “but I—”

“Don’t say you haven’t visited the circulating library? A travesty!”

They were parted again before Philly could answer. When next they reunited, he grinned at her.

“You must see something of the city, ma’am. If ever you have the inclination, it would be my pleasure to show it to you. All you need do is say the word.”

Philly only smiled and shook her head. She’d love to see something more of the city, but she wasn’t certain she wanted to do so in Mr. Forsythe’s company. He was amiable, to be sure—and just as handsome as Lord Darly, who partnered her for the next set. But neither gentleman made her heart beat faster. And they certainly didn’t inspire the sort of confidences she’d shared with Captain Heywood.

As the night stretched on, Philly’s feet began to ache in her thin dancing slippers. She looked for her mysterious suitor in the faces of every gentleman she met, but he’d yet to make an appearance. Soon, exhaustion outweighed curiosity. She was ready to return home, and thus to bed. Uncle Edgar, however, was insistent they stay through supper. As the hour approached, Mrs. Vale took a seat at the edge of the ballroom and sent Philly and her cousins off for refreshments.

Out of the presence of her father and aunt, Elizabeth was quick to convey every small detail about the gentlemen with whom Philly had been dancing.

“The short, plump one is heir to a great fortune. He’s set on finding a wife this season, and I’ve heard that any woman will do.” Elizabeth took a glass of lemonade from an obliging footman. “His skinny friend has a title, but no money. He’ll marry an heiress, or no one at all.”

“The fine-looking blond gentleman is Mr. Forsythe,” Abigail chimed in. “Do you think him handsome?”

“Reggie Forsythe may be handsome, but he hasn’t a feather to fly with,” Elizabeth said. “He’s seeking an heiress, too. I can’t think why he paid you any attention. The novelty of it, I daresay.”

“I expect you’re right,” Philly replied.

Elizabeth hadn’t danced much herself. Whenever Philly had glanced in her direction, she’d seen her sitting in a high-backed chair along the wall, wafting her fan with vigor. “You were lucky to have danced with Lord Darly. I’ve heard he’s an excellent partner. What did you think, Phyllida?”

“I’m sure he’s very accomplished,” Philly said, “but I couldn’t tell. I’m not a good enough dancer to appreciate it, I suppose.”

“Fiddle. I think it’s only that you must hate dancing as much as you hate cards, shopping, and every other thing. It seems you’re determined to be miserable.”

Philly gave her cousin a thoughtful look. Elizabeth was only a year older than she was, but in London, a lady’s years weighed heavily. Especially when that lady had had no success on the marriage mart. Whether Elizabeth’s waspishness was the cause of her failure or the unhappy result of it, Philly didn’t know. She rather suspected the latter. “You’re very harsh, cousin.”

Elizabeth’s lips compressed in a fair imitation of her aunt. “I speak as I find.”

“Oh look!” Abigail exclaimed. “There’s Lady Eliot.”

Distracted from her exchange with Elizabeth, Philly looked out across the ballroom. “Which one is she, Abigail?”

“She’s wearing a white-and-silver gown. Like a Grecian Goddess.”

Philly couldn’t see her at first, but in seconds the crowd shifted, and there across the floor, on the arm of a fashionable gentleman, she first beheld Caroline Eliot—the lady who had broken Captain Heywood’s heart.

She was classically beautiful, with a tall, stately figure, and a magnificent bosom showcased quite daringly in a very low-cut gown. Her cropped blond curls were secured with a silver bandeau and accented with a single white ostrich feather, and her dark eyes roved over the ballroom as if she found the entire party exceedingly dull.

“Is she not the most elegant woman you’ve ever seen?” Abigail said in tones of awe.